


Bending to his will

by ayumie



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Laurits is Loki, M/M, Shameless Smut, The Past Is Never Dead, dreamscape, incest (in this life), slightly out of control magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayumie/pseuds/ayumie
Summary: In which Loki loved Thor and Loki hated Thor and they definitely had sex. Now Laurits remembers and (as ever) refuses to leave well enough alone. Things get somewhat out of hand when past and present blur.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Magne/Laurits
Comments: 13
Kudos: 60
Collections: Ragna_rok





	Bending to his will

**Author's Note:**

> To tell the truth, when I managed to avoid getting sucked into the vortex of Marvel's Thor/Loki fandom a few years ago, I kind of felt I'd dodged a bullet. I mean, Norse Gods as modern day superheroes? Nothing good could come of it – although it did look like a lot of fun. Anyway, along came Ragnarok and here I am. You all know what they say about the road to hell and good intentions. Thunderstorm - sex metaphors. So many of them...
> 
> Also, I love comments, so let me know what you think :)

  


Laurits was tingling with nervous energy, skin tight, vision shimmering with things not quite seen, not quite _there_ in this time and place. He hadn't known he was going to do this, hadn't known that he could. But then, he could do so many things now. It felt like he was everything at once: dreaming and awake, drifting but focused, old and new, with reality bending to his will. Everything was falling into place. Laurits's lips curled into a smile that still felt alien on his face as he looked down at his brother. Magne was utterly oblivious, sprawling gracelessly in the too small bed. Just an awkward teenager with rumpled hair and fraying clothes. A God in his golden glory. Laurits brought up his hands and snapped his fingers, watching with satisfaction as those blue eyes opened. Magne blinked, brow furrowing in dazed confusion. 

  


“What-? Who-?”

  


Laurits heroically resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Magne had never been good with words, but this was a new low even for him. His brother was staring at him like he was a ghost, blue eyes widening in recognition even as his nostrils flared like he was scenting the air.

  


“Laurits? Is that you? Y-you look...”

  


Yes. He did look. Laurits had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, all pale and lithe and sharp-edged. Radiant. Like Magne, except so very different. Laurits found himself wanting to reach out so he did, tracing the bold angles of his brother's face with curious fingertips. In the strange half-light his brother's broad features seemed to come together like he had suddenly grown into them. Like they remembered what they were supposed to be. Magne blinked, lips curving around another question, full and irresistible. The kiss was as sweet as any he remembered. Laurits drank in the small, shocked gasp, sharing breath and warmth and half-lost memories. It didn't last long. Strong hands closed around his upper arms, pushing him back hard. Although not all that hard, considering Magne could have easily thrown him through the roof.

  


“What are you doing? You can't be here. You can't-”

  


His brother's voice sounded choked, gravelly, like he was pushing through deep waters to speak. Ignoring the pain, Laurits crouched low, laughter shivering under his skin. He felt alive with power, somehow knew that magic was riding the air and, tonight at least, Magne was helpless to resist it.

  


“We are Gods.”

  


And what was the point of that, if you let yourself be bothered by petty concerns? Magne was shaking his head, though, endearingly stubborn about this as he was about so much else.

  


“You are my brother.”

  


And yet Magne wasn't simply shoving him off the bed, wasn't lashing out in a great show of wrath and violence. There was something brittle about his words, something empty, like he knew the result was a foregone conclusion. Laurits smiled.

  


“My brothers are Byleist and Helblindi. My mother is Nal. Once you would have known me in any guise.”

  


Known him and caught him and fucked him. So many times, in warm summer nights beneath the stars and a tree that breached the heavens. On hard ground in darkness and cold like none they had known before, a cruel prelude to what was to follow. Magne's breath hitched like the same pictures were flickering through his mind and, pointedly glancing down to where his brother's erection was tenting his pajama bottoms, Laurits arched an eyebrow. The blush spreading over Magne's face and neck was sweet, but at the same time his eyes darkened, something older, harsher stirring in their depths. Laurits shrugged out of Magne's grip, those large hands strangely nerveless as they fell down to rest on his thighs. Even that small, inadvertent touch was enough to send a shiver down his spine. Drawing a deep breath to steady himself. Soon. His brother was breathing hard, mouth working like he was groping for words, blue eyes flitting from the places where their bodies touched, to the pale gleam of skin where Laurits robe had fallen open to the shadowy room beyond and the door that wouldn't lock. Like that was a concern. A slim, long fingered hand planted firmly on the center of Magne's chest was enough to reclaim his attention.

  


“Look at me.”

  


The air shuddered around them as the shadows deepened, the faded cotton of the sheets growing richer, thicker, until it felt like fur. Ignoring the unexpected flutter of nerves twisting in his stomach, Laurits pulled off the robe he was wearing and casually tossed it aside. He frowned, trying to remember where he had got the thing, so strange and rich and out of place in their small, ramshackle house. He must have found it in the attic, he decided, but what did it matter anyway when Magne's eyes were on him, drinking in the sight of his body like a drowning man clinging to the last glimpse of the sky. Eyes never leaving his brother's face, Laurits ran his hand down that broad chest, feeling the faded T-shirt melt away at his touch. Magne's touch was like everything else about him: big. It felt good to take it in his hand and curl his fingers around the shaft, right somehow, like the taste of mead in his mouth or the roar of the giants' music pulsing through his body. He had been half-expecting resistance, denial, a blow. Instead, all the fight seemed to go out of Magne and that big body shuddered, head falling back as he gasped and, oh, this was good. This was fucking perfect. Laurits indulged himself, feasting his eyes on the sight of a God being undone by the touch of his hand. He pumped Magne's cock faster, thumb brushing the tip to sweep up what slickness was gathering there. It wasn't enough to ease the friction, so Laurits briefly pulled his hand away to spit into the palm. Laughter bubbled in his chest as he realized that his brother was staring at him like he had never seen anything as wicked. He probably hadn't. It worked even better that way, all slow, smooth strokes that ended with a twist of his wrist and had Magne panting helplessly. Those blue eyes were glazed with lust and for all his stoic silences his brother had never been capable of subterfuge, thoughts and emotions showing too clearly for comfort.

  


“Please...”

  


Barely more than a whisper, like Magne himself was not sure what he was asking for. Not that it mattered. His brother's body was telling him everything he needed to know and those large hands were still on Laurits's thighs, fingers flexing in a way that felt almost like a caress. A few weeks ago, he might have bruised. Magne, he thought, spitefully, ought to be grateful he had come into his own before sweet Gry inevitably changed her mind about who she wanted to be with. Fjor had had a few millennia to learn to control his strength. It would have been amusing, in retrospect, had he succeeded in seducing the giant. Perhaps he would try again, now that he knew what he was dealing with. It couldn't possibly compare to this, though. Nothing ever could. Magne's eyes were fluttering shut, body growing taut even as his hips jerked. It hadn't taken long at all and, at another time, he would have mocked his brother for it. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Laurits found that his own heart was hammering in his chest, breath quickening at the sight of Magne throwing his head back as he came, hair darkened by sweat and plastered to his face, lips bitten raw in an attempt to keep from crying out. His cock was twitching in Laurits's grip as warm seed spilled over his hand. It was messy and awkward and utterly beautiful. He couldn't wait any longer. Reaching behind himself, he pressed cum-slick fingers against his own hole. The angle was less than ideal, but he had managed before, knew exactly how to twist his wrist, so that his knuckles brushed the spot that turned discomfort into pleasure. It wasn't enough, not even close. Biting his lip to keep from crying out, Laurits pushed deeper. He knew he was going too fast, that his body needed more time, more lube to ease the friction. It would have been bear grease, once, he thought disjointedly. He could almost smell it now, a musky animal scent intensified by the heat of their bodies as he coaxed himself open. His fingers were sliding easily into his body, so he withdrew them. He could do this, Laurits told himself as he shifted forward ignoring the sudden flutter of nerves that made his stomach twist. Magne's erection hadn't flagged, one more thing that was still the same. He was in position now, the blunt head of his brother's cock nudging against his hole.

  


Magne still seemed to be reeling from his earlier orgasm, which was something Laurits was totally prepared to take credit for, but right now the lack of attention just wouldn't do. After a moment of careful deliberation, he reached down and raked his fingernails over the tender skin of his brother's hip and belly, marking it however briefly. The moment those blue eyes focused, outrage and shocked realization in their depths, Laurits pushed down.

A mistake. Breath rushing out of him, he pitched forward, barely managing to catch himself against Magne's shoulder. The cock sheathed in his ass felt impossibly big, so much thicker than even three fingers had been, a stupefying, overwhelming pressure that made it a struggle to draw air into his lungs. Stupid, stupid, stupid, to confuse memory with actual, physical experience and expect this – his – new, young body to be able to deal. Instead he felt like he was being split open, muscles spasming even as he willed himself to relax, thighs trembling with the strain of staying in place. He made himself move. Slowly at first, small, rocking motions that helped a little. He _could_ do this, body adjusting slowly as the first rush of sensations ebbed.

  


A touch to his hand made him jump a little. Magne was reaching out to him, twining their fingers together, giving him something to hold on to. Chest constricting, Laurits stared down at his brother. Magne's eyes were wide, pupils dilated so only a small ring of blue showed around him. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, that big body quivering with the barely restrained need to move and thrust and conquer. And still he was-? It was such a Magne thing to do and Laurits couldn't think about this now, not when the first sullen sparks of pleasure were finally clawing up his spine. Sweat was stinging in his eyes, his sight obscured by the messy fall of his hair and his body was moving the way he was supposed to, smooth and sinuous and brazen. He didn't let go of his brother's hands as his hips found a rhythm, rolling in a way that made Magne's cock thrust deep and true. The stretch was still intense, almost too much, but now he felt in control, riding the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Then the pain faded and there was only pleasure left. The wild, reckless exhilaration he had felt during his dance with the Jutuls was singing in Laurits's blood as he ground down, angling his hips to get that perfect flare of pleasure, cockhead against prostate and, yes. This.

  


Somewhere in the distance thunder was rumbling and, instinctively looking up, Laurits blinked at the sight of the night sky, heavy clouds rolling in to obscure cold, distant stars. He gasped as he felt Magne move, all restraint broken, arching sharply enough to lift both of them off the mattress for a second. Somehow he managed to keep his balance, thighs flexing to ride the thrust and steady himself in time for the next. Then they were moving together and it was all Laurits could do not to come right away, his own control – the conceit of it – shattering. He matched those hard, glorious thrusts for as long as he could, grinding down whenever Magne's hips snapped up, needing to feel everything. All too soon he found that he couldn't keep up, merely writhing against the cock that kept shoving deep, fucking him with inhuman strength. Pleasure was coiling in his balls, winding tighter with every second. With a last bit of coordination, Laurits dragged one of Magne's hands to his belly and lower, wrapping both their fingers around his neglected erection. The touch was surprisingly soft – no calluses from wielding sword and shield and hammer – so he adjusted their grip, tightening it until his muscles clenched and both of them groaned harshly. Lightning was crackling above, spreading across the sky like spiderwebs. It almost masked another sound, low and choked and, already sinking into the stranglehold of pleasure, Laurits realized that it was his own voice, moaning a name over and over again. He was vaguely aware of a wordless scream, felt Magne's cock jerk deep inside of him and then even that was lost as his thoughts scattered. Spine bowing with the intensity of the orgasm crashing through him, Laurits shuddered and came.

  


A sharp gust of wind raised goosebumps on Laurits's skin and he curled against the very warm body next to his own, making a small, contented noise when, after a moment, a heavy arm settled across his waist. He had _never_ liked the cold. They were facing each other on the narrow bed, so close Laurits had to tilt his head back to get a good look at his brother. For once Magne was completely still, all his nervous energy exorcised. Those blue eyes cracked open. For a moment his brother just stared at him, a slow flush creeping over his face as his mouth opened and closed several times. Laurits watched with interest, waiting for words to come. There was a number of ways this could play out, some of them more painful than others. Magne nervously wet his lips.

  


“I- Did I hurt you?” he finally blurted out. It was unexpectedly sweet and entirely amusing. Ignoring the twinge in his ass and thighs, Laurits grinned and arched his back, stretching luxuriously.

  


“What does it look like?”

  


Predictably, Magne's blush deepened and he looked like he might have squirmed away except that the wall was right behind his back and there was nowhere to go. He looked so much like the boy he still was – in spite of everything – that, after a moment, Laurits relented and let his smirk soften into a smile.

  


“Don't worry so much. It's not like this wasn't bound to happen.”

  


He felt more than heard Magne sigh.

  


“You couldn't have waited a little longer?”

  


Instantly Laurits's thought turned to fair-haired maidens who couldn't have everything, but it'd be cruel to bring up Gry now and he didn't mean to be cruel to his brother. Not tonight, anyway. He shrugged, eyes sliding away.

  


“You started this.”

  


It was true, as far as it went. Embarrassing as it was to admit, it had been Thor's eyes following him first, inscrutable for once, face shadowed in a hall filled with flickering torchlight. It had been Thor who had cornered him later, hand rough on his shoulder as he had spun him around. It had been Thor's mouth on his, tasting of honey and apples, as he finally realized – humiliatingly late – what had been the matter. It was his mouth on Magne's now, slow and soft, like lovers might kiss. The sheets were cotton again, old and frayed. It was all fading away, the vast, stormy sky, the scent of grass and freshly turned earth and the cold, bright moonlight he remembered so well. He didn't know how to recapture any of it.

  


  


Some time later, Laurits slipped from a dark room, bare feet making no sound on the worn carpet. The tiles of the bathroom floor were cold, their chill so sharp it seemed to sink into his bones. He stared into his face in the mirror as he waited for the tap to produce warm water. For a moment, Laurits felt like he might be sick. 15 years weren't such a long time, compared to everything that had come before. 15 years of growing up human, of being Turid's son, Magne's brother. It might be enough to make a difference in what was to come. Then again, it might not. He was who he was.

  


The End.


End file.
